


if you think you can stomach me

by princewardo



Category: The Social Network (2010)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Anorexia, Caring Mark, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Fix-It, Frottage, Gay Sex, Hand Jobs, Harvard Era, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:15:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princewardo/pseuds/princewardo
Summary: Eduardo is counting on getting smaller. It makes everything feel better, even when it’s making his entire life so much worse.
Relationships: Eduardo Saverin/Mark Zuckerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. Part One: Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> please check the tags! this is a big labour of uhhhh misery for me so...ED fic readers, I hope it does something for you!
> 
> thank you to everyone in my tsn community for the last decade who has tolerated me essentially using fanfiction as a really ineffective form of self therapy. 
> 
> obviously, disordered eating experiences are different for everyone. this is just one story. there is no right there is no wrong. 
> 
> additionally, I want to be clear from the outset: this is not a recovery story. not everyone gets a recovery story. sometimes they get a lifetime.

“I expect you to make some real progress this semester.”

Eduardo nodded attentively. He was rewarded with a prompt dismissal from his Pai’s study. 

The housekeeper already had the taxi pulled up out front, even though Eduardo had told her he could walk to the street - he wished he had. He put his own luggage in the boot at least, arms as tense as brittle springs as he lifted their bulk.

His mother kissed him goodbye curtly, fixing his hair for a few moments at arm's length. “Don’t forget we’re supposed to be cutting back on sugar,” she said, smoothing his quiff flat.

The taxi driver did little more than grunt at him from the house to the airport, perfectly happy to let Eduardo unload his own bags and leave him at the far end of the domestic departures concourse. 

Eduardo checked everything but his shoulder bag and cleared security, laptop and rings already in hand for the trays. 

It wasn’t a busy time, too far from breakfast or lunch for the lounges to be buzzing, still an hour from the boarding estimate. He took a jaunt around the lounge, tracing the very edges of the long seats and unmanned boarding desks. 

There was a gaggle of school age children to dodge around, all standing in front of the widest viewing window gawking at a jet lumbering past on the end of a tow line. 

He ducked into the nearby store instead, browsing through the magazines and pharmaceuticals. He picked up a Mens Health and considered the vitamins before shrugging and selecting a packet of sleep gels and a travel sized pot of hair wax. He put it on his card and slid everything into his bag, already seeking the familiar bathroom signposts.

The coast was clear so he took care of business leisurely and messed around in front of the mirror with mouthwash and the hair wax, frowning at his profile until he gave it up as passable.

He was packing up when a bent over cleaner trudged in, cart rattling.

“Looking smart, sir,” the old man said, gingerly settling his cloth on the basin edge with swollen arthritic fingers.

“Thank you.” Eduardo said quietly, leaving quickly. 

He had about fifteen minutes left to lap the lounges again until he could board. He did it in a rush, torn between watching the faces of passersby and the big clock on the information board. 

The staff smiled at him when he approached the gate, the woman scanning his passport nodding approvingly at his passport picture. Eduardo smiled back, nervous but not at all regretful that he had called in at the photographer his cousin had recommended before his last renewal. 

The flight attendants in the door of the plane were similarly kind, and Eduardo settled in happily, even smiling at his miserable looking seatmate. He buckled in and tucked his blanket around him. He shot off a quick text to Mark before he turned off the phone.

_on the plane. ES_

The Mens Health kept him occupied for about twenty minutes, but he feigned deep immersion to avoid having to actively turn down the attendants’ offers of beverages and snacks. 

He couldn’t wait to be back in Cambridge where self obsessed students simply didn’t think to offer their peers meals or any beverage that didn’t contain at least 5% ethanol. 

Eduardo felt like he hadn’t been able to enter a room for the last three weeks without having a biscoito caseiro crammed down his throat as his father looked on in disdain.

Boston’s climate hit him like a freezing lead pipe, the shock of cold a familiar sting in the Logan arrivals hall. He grabbed his luggage and hailed a cab, ignoring the cold that bit through his shirt sleeves as he leaned into the street, arm aloft. 

The driver guessed his destination from a glance at his bags. Eduardo only had to specify the street Eliot house adjoined. He slumped in the back seat, the bravado leaking out of him. Back to his dark scholastic cocoon. 

It was a bittersweet relief.

+++

Eduardo signed up for social groups, fraternity mixers, study groups, special interest clubs. He always did, every year. It wasn’t as if he was obligated to turn up to all of them, and when he did it was pretty infrequent. Even the Investor’s Club rarely met in person - and they were all cagey types anyhow.

Despite his best intentions upon moving to Boston in first year (be sociable, network hard, party like you’re popular), Eduardo had ended up clammed up; a solitary man at heart. 

Meeting the Kirkland guys at AEPi had been the best and worst thing that could have happened. 

They were not socialites by any stretch of the imagination. On the other hand, nobody else Eduardo had ever met actively tried to keep up a friendship like Dustin did (multiple texts per day, the lamest invites to party in his own dorm room every week). And then there was Mark. 

Mark’s silences fit his own so well. They could sit or work quietly next to each other for hours when they had nothing to say. 

It sounded like a bad movie, but standing in the warm light of Mark’s attention was special - laughing when he trash talked his classmates, being in on Kirkland jokes, curling up cross-legged on Mark’s bed without a word and having Mark twist in his chair to acknowledge him with his quirk of a smile. 

When he searched blindly for a definition of what he was feeling, Eduardo guessed it felt like what home was supposed to feel like.

Mark was kind (in his own way), and when Mark assessed him with his sharp sly gaze it was always directed at his face. 

Sometimes Mark focused politely on the air just to Eduardo’s left as he tried to explain exactly how groundbreaking and ingenious his strings of syntax really were. 

Eduardo could barely grasp anything beyond the math - math made sense at a base level - and Mark knew that. He explained, regardless - assuming Eduardo had at least the capacity to appreciate the intricacy of his work.

Eduardo liked that. Liked that Mark knew how to be content with the bare minimum, that he favoured it. Liked that Mark loved his own addiction, his pursuit, his work, more than anything else. He could relate.

That was why he’d kissed him before the break, and when he got back from the break, checking in to make sure it was the same. 

Their math still added up, no matter what his mother said about the number of hors d'oeuvres he’d taken at the Miami Business Association’s Summer Gala, or his father had said after reviewing his GPA projections. 

Mark was basic math to Eduardo; familiar and easy. Mark was always quietly pleased to see him sidle in, his quick quirk of a smile plotting a simple y=b^x.

+++

The morning Eduardo finally weighed in at 110 pounds, he brushed his teeth, applied cologne, sat through a math lecture solely to get an assignment back, skipped lunch and hurried to Kirkland to kiss Mark before he could get settled into his afternoon coding jag.

“Huh.” Mark said, blinking as he glanced back to his screen. ”You made me keymash.”

“Sorry,” Eduardo said immediately, looking down at his socks. He tucked his hands under his arms. “I just-”

“-wanted to kiss me?” Mark finished for him after the pause had gone on a little too long, eyebrow raised.

Eduardo shrugged.

“Wardo.” Mark said. He reached out and tugged at Eduardo’s messenger bag. “If you’re going to kiss me, at least act like you’re not planning on running away immediately after.”

Eduardo flushed, but pulled the bag over his head and set it down on the floor by Mark’s desk.

Mark nudged it further back with his foot, frowning when it barely slid an inch. “Did you rob the campus bookshop this morning?” he asked.

“I may have packed for tomorrow’s classes too.” Eduardo admitted. He liked to swap sides, hoping to tone up the muscles on both sides of his back.

Mark looked at the bag for a moment longer, then back at him, swivelling his seat out from under his desk. “Now that you have my undivided attention,” he said, “and I’ve saved the file - you wanna run that by me again?”

Eduardo grinned and bent double again, careful to grasp the back of Mark’s chair for balance. He kissed him, eyes half open this time so he could see what Mark meant by undivided attention. 

Mark looked pleased when he pulled away. He lifted a hand and rested it on Eduardo’s right forearm, petting gently like he was a cat or something. 

“You like me,” he said, almost boastful.

“Yeah,” Eduardo said, grinning.

“Good,” Mark said. “I mean, I like that.” He paused for a moment, hand tightening around Eduardo’s forearm. “I like you,” he finally said, decisive.

“I like you,” Eduardo agreed, dropping his eyes shyly. 

He pulled out a textbook and sat on Mark’s single like he usually did when it was just the two of them in the Kirkland suite.

Mark spun back to his computer, clicking and clattering for a while until he paused suddenly. Eduardo looked up, expectant.

“Do you wanna try kissing some more?” Mark asked, back still turned.

Eduardo put his book on the floor, faux-casual. “If you want.”

Mark shut his laptop decisively and turned his chair to face the bed. He looked expectantly at Eduardo, not making a move to do anything but slouch in the chair with his thighs spread. His ratty basketball shorts barely concealed his stirring interest. He really needed new shorts.

Eduardo chewed his lip for half a second before he gave in to the gravity field that was Mark’s unwavering gaze. Then he practically threw himself at him to press their mouths together again. 

There was a split second where Eduardo worried that he was too obvious, too eager, too desperate. It was right in between him stooping over Mark to kiss him and when Mark boldly slipped his tongue directly into Eduardo’s mouth.

Eduardo made a pleased sound of surprise against Mark’s lips, more than happy to let him conduct a thorough survey. 

Mark’s hands went to Eduardo’s shoulders to brace him. Then they slipped down his sides to the small of his back. There was nowhere to go but Mark’s lap, so he went, aware that his ears were reddening even as Mark licked at the corner of his mouth. 

Mark always kept his chair at a perfectly ergonomic height. Despite that, Eduardo’s legs were still long enough that he had to tuck his shins around behind the chair and turn his ankles in to sit comfortably in Mark’s lap.

He was wrapped around Mark like a winding snake. Eduardo laughed into Mark’s mouth at the thought. Mark pulled away to give him an unimpressed look. 

“Nothing, nothing,” Eduardo smiled. He shook his head and ducked in again to steal another kiss. 

Mark had his revenge soon enough - mouth still occupied, he discovered where Eduardo had meticulously tucked his Ralph Lauren sweater into his dress pants that morning and set about tugging him into complete disarray.

“Mark-” he said, dragging his lips away, “- stop, you’ll stretch it.”

“Then take it off,” Mark muttered, hands sliding right up under the knit to do it for him.

Eduardo sat up soberly, balancing easily on Mark’s steady thighs. His hands went to the hem of the sweater. He rubbed his fingers over the soft mohair. 

“You don’t have to,” Mark said quickly. His eyes were still dark but he was gentle as he removed his hands from Eduardo’s clothes. “Honestly.”

Eduardo shook his head. He sucked in a little, for courage, and pulled the sweater over his head. “I want to,” he said and he pulled Mark’s hands closer to start undoing his shirt buttons.

Mark applied himself to the unbuttoning with care. He groaned when he found Eduardo was also wearing an undershirt.

“Are you serious?” he asked flatly, plucking at the fabric as Eduardo laughed at his frustration. “Why are you wearing so many clothes? Do you have two pairs of pants on, too?”

“Boxers and briefs?” Eduardo suggested, burying his snort of laughter in Mark’s shoulder.

Mark finally got his hands under the undershirt. Eduardo gasped as warm hands skimmed up his ribs and pulled the cloth up over his head. Mark paused to look him over, big palm settled in the small of Eduardo’s back.

Eduardo shifted in slight discomfort. He pulled at Mark’s zip-up. “Excuse me,” he said. “It seems you have me at a disadvantage.”

Mark snorted. He stripped the hoodie off and tossed it on the floor, then sent his tshirt after it. “Better?”

Mark was broader than you could tell with his hoodie on, lean and upright, his fortnightly fencing meet up still fresh in his muscle memory. Mark stayed attentively straight backed even with Eduardo in his lap. He leaned into Eduardo with his entire body.

“Yes, better,” Eduardo laughed and let Mark drag him down to invade his mouth again.

There was a thud and the sound of Dustin and Billy, deep in animated conversation as they entered the shared dorm space. 

Mark groaned and kicked out at the nearly closed door, slamming it shut.

“Mark!” Eduardo yelped in surprise and a little bit of amusement. 

“I should put a sock on it,” Mark mused, looking from the laundry scattered floor to the door in between biting gently at Eduardo’s collarbone.

“Won’t Billy come in? This is his room.” Eduardo could barely get the question out, he was so distracted.

Mark was just barely setting his teeth against his sensitive skin before following through with a hot suck at his skin. 

Eduardo was going to wake up the next day with more dark spots than a Dalmatian. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed about it - the thrill of the wet heat of Mark’s mouth was going straight from his neck to his dick.

“This is my room too,” Mark muttered. He urged Eduardo against his chest, both hands cupped around Eduardo’s slight hips. “He should consider himself lucky if he walks in on us.” 

“Not funny,” Eduardo said sternly, interrupting himself with a whine when Mark dragged him into a quick grinding rhythm against his upper thigh. 

“Wait, Mark...” he trailed off, head drooping to tuck into the crook of Mark’s neck, already dizzy with pleasure. “I’m going to make a mess,” he said weakly.

“You can wear my sweatpants,” Mark said shortly, rolling Eduardo’s hips down for him again. 

Fuck, Eduardo could feel Mark’s cock, thick and rubbing up against Eduardo’s ass. The press of the blunt head was distinct and blood-hot even through his pants. He could feel the warm dampness of what he knew was Mark’s precum seeping through the fabric against his inner thigh. 

There was a rap on the door, followed by an all too obvious giggle.

Eduardo jolted involuntarily, head lifting to glance in concern first at the door and then at Mark.

“Fuck off, Dustin,” Mark yelled, hands not leaving Eduardo’s waist. 

There was another tap at the door. Eduardo jumped again, nerves shot. He clung to Mark automatically. 

“Leave them alone,” Chris scolded faintly on the other side. Dustin’s feet shuffled away and the television turned on.

Mark exhaled through his nose, rolling his eyes at Eduardo. “Next time - sock.” 

Eduardo smiled nervously, and Mark hiked him back into his lap, groaning low as he dropped him back into his previous spot.

“Sorry!” Eduardo said automatically. He took some of his weight off of Mark, letting his feet take up the slack against the carpet.

“I’m squashing you,” Eduardo said, laughing it off. 

Mark gave him a curious look. “What are you talking about?”

Eduardo leaned in quickly to kiss Mark into distraction. Mark went with it happily enough, taking the opportunity to slide his hands down the back of Eduardo’s slacks.

Eduardo gasped into his mouth at the touch, and again when Mark dug his fingers into the firm flesh there and easily dragged him back into a fast grind against Mark’s thigh. 

Eduardo pulled his mouth back, wet and still gasping. “Mark, I really am going to-”

Mark’s hands left his ass and went to the sharp jut of his hip bones, gripping him mercilessly and pulling him into the right spot to graze over Mark’s firm arousal. 

Eduardo went easily, more than happy to let Mark show him how to make him feel good. 

“You’re so tiny,” Mark told him, rubbing his thumbs over Eduardo’s hips over and over, eyes dark. “You could literally jump on me as hard as you could and it wouldn’t hurt.”

Eduardo stared at Mark, feeling his face flush and his stomach tingle pleasantly at his comment. He ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Seriously,” Mark continued, a dog with a bone who knew exactly where to dig. 

He leaned closer, lips nearly brushing over the shell of Eduardo‘s ear. “I could probably pick you up and carry on with you pressed up against the door. Easily.” 

Eduardo locked eyes with Mark, helpless against the wave of heat that carried him, mortified but aroused, over the edge. He panted softly and creamed all over the inside of his briefs.

Mark smirked, watching his face tense and drop. He tucked Eduardo’s limp neck against his shoulder and redoubled his efforts, moving sinuously in time with Eduardo’s gentle bucking movements. 

Mark had to take total control, as Eduardo was pretty sure his bones were now rubberised, and his muscles turned to soup. 

Mark didn’t seem to mind, given how he wrapped one rigid arm around Eduardo’s hips and placed the other hand heavy on the back of Eduardo’s neck. 

He worked Eduardo against him hard, keeping his face pressed into the crook of his neck, still breathing hard through the lingering pleasure of his own orgasm. 

Mark only released him after he came as well. Eduardo felt it - the final swell of his wet cock pressed up under his thighs and Mark’s warm come seeping through their sweat soaked clothes. 

His slacks might be officially beyond help now.

+++

“I gotta eat,” Mark grumbled, rolling off of the side of his bed far too quickly for Eduardo’s taste.

Eduardo felt sure he’d barely just gotten his heart beat back to resting rate. “Let me sleep,” he complained groggily. “This is definitely still within the designated rest and recovery period.” He looked at his watch. Barely four in the afternoon. He dropped back into Mark’s pillow and rolled over to hijack Mark’s lingering body heat.

“I missed lunch,” Mark said, already up and picking through his laundry pile. 

He threw a pair of boxers and black jersey sweats at Eduardo and pulled on his pilled grey marle ones from the day before. From what Eduardo could remember, these and a pair of cargo shorts were really the extent of Mark’s wardrobe.

“I know you skipped it too, and I’m willing to bet you had coffee and integral differentiation for breakfast.”

“You think you’re smart, huh,” Eduardo muttered into the pillow until it was unceremoniously taken from him.

“Feed me,” Mark demanded, unusually insistent when Eduardo knew for a fact there was a stack of tuna cans and a half eaten package of Red Vines on the desk. 

“Fine,” Eduardo said, rolling out of the bed to hunt around the bombsite for his shirt and sweater. 

Twenty minutes later, after a very surreptitious detour to the third floor bathroom for a swift rinse to his slacks and a hand soap and paper towel wipe down, they were in the Yard. 

The autumn breeze was freezing even this early on. Eduardo was reluctantly glad for Mark’s sweatpants. They kept slipping down his hips despite tying the drawstring as tightly as it would go, but just the thought of putting his damp filthy slacks back on made his skin crawl.

“Dining hall?” Mark bee-lined for the building without further discussion. Eduardo trudged after him, his messenger bag nearly knocking his knees out from under him with every step. 

Mark stacked a tray with sloppy macaroni cheese, three rolls, a slice of anemic dining hall cheesecake and a Red Bull. 

“Want anything?” Mark said, generously, his swipe card practically in the cashier’s gloved hands.

“Coffee,” Eduardo said, modestly. “Please.”

The woman behind the counter plonked a mug down. “Bottomless,” she said to herself, punching it into the register. 

“Drip’s behind you, hon. Creamer and sugar too.” 

“Thank you,” Eduardo said, both to her and to Mark, who was frowning even as they turned to stop at the coffee counter. 

“I meant food,” Mark said when they sat down at a table as close as they could get to the old wall panel heaters. “You could get something to eat too, Wardo. I’m paying.”

He scrabbled in his pocket again, pulling his charge card out to offer it to Eduardo over his steaming macaroni. 

Eduardo smiled and shook his head, cupping his warm cup in both hands. Two artificial sweeteners and a top up would have him buzzing for at least the next six hours. 

Mark put his card away again, obviously peeved. 

“I just needed a coffee to wake me up,” Eduardo said. He looked askance at Mark from under his eyelashes. “You really knocked me out earlier.” 

Mark preened despite himself, the curl of his lips satisfied. “I know.” He dug into his macaroni, still smug.

Eduardo begged off returning to Kirkland after Mark finished eating. 

He was actually very concerned for his slacks and the laundry room was absolute hell once classes finished up for the day. 

Secondly, he was exhausted. A night of solid sleep sounded all too enticing to his gritty eyes. 

First he diligently ran two loads of colour separated laundry before the rest of Eliot could flood in, sitting on the dryer in between cycles to finish up next week’s calculus exercises. 

He laid out Thursday’s outfit and checked his textbooks, then finally showered and threw back a bottle of chilled water before diving into his cool crisp sheets. 

The sad thrill of excitement that had him turning into his pillow in satisfaction wasn’t the thought of seeing Mark tomorrow, although he dearly wanted to. It was the thought of 109. Perhaps less if he was very lucky.


	2. Part One: Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eduardo nearly makes it to his math tutorial on time but makes an acquaintance on the way. Then the Kirkland Quartet hit the club, to varying degrees of success and humiliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never look at a real map of Harvard when you’ve already written 10k of a fic. just don’t.

Eduardo was chronically on the knife's edge of being late to his World History class on Tuesdays and Fridays, though he wasn’t sure how. 

He always woke at his usual time, took a trip to the bathrooms, weighed himself in his room, usually huffed in irritation at the static number, then somehow got trapped in front of the mirror. 

It wasn’t entirely vanity, although he certainly spent a ridiculous amount of time on getting his hair to sit in an artful structure. 

His mother would say he was looking sallow. Eduardo couldn’t really see it; that was one of those things people tell you because you can’t see them in yourself. 

His skin was shockingly clear though - Eduardo couldn’t figure out whether it was age, better moisturiser, hydration, or the result of eliminating nearly every inflammatory food group from his diet. 

Whatever it was, it had resolved everything from acne to blemishes Eduardo had honestly thought were freckles. 

On the flip side, the amount of hair he was picking off of his pillow some mornings almost convinced him that he had a cat. 

In a strange exchange, the light downy lanugo that grew on his jaw and odd spots like his flanks and the soft skin behind his knees had made a noticeable comeback. It was easy enough to shave away, but Eduardo took it as a clear sign that it was time to break out his thick mohair sweaters and layer up his jackets. 

All this preparation threw his timing out, but somehow World History got the worst end of the stick. Macroeconomics started an hour earlier on Mondays, but he never failed to manage to stroll in ten minutes early with a coffee and stake out seats for Chris and himself. 

History was just cursed, he guessed. The real issue was it then threw the whole day out of whack. 

Eduardo didn’t even have to think about what to do with his lunch hour - he needed to run back across campus to make it to a Math lab the admins had jammed into a disused seminar room in Leverett Library. And once again, he’d miscalculated how long it took to get there around the riverside way.

Sitting in a cold sweat with a packet of calculus in front of him would almost feel like a blessing compared to the painful heart palpitations that set in once he rounded the old brick building that kept the Winthrop House party animals safely locked away from the world.

Eduardo took a quick breather outside the Old Weld Boathouse. It was a good spot to duck into to escape the wind when his throat tightened up, giving him nothing but the metallic tang of blood. 

“You alright, man?” Someone huge and hulking let himself out, closing the door carefully on an echoing din of splashing and friendly shouting. It sounded like a swimming pool.

Eduardo lifted his head from the weatherboards he’d shored himself up on. “Yeah, thanks. Just ran too fast,” he said lamely. 

This guy had probably never been short of breath in his life.

“It happens,” the guy smiled, looking Eduardo over and seemingly finding him harmless. He shifted his weight in a way that somehow made him seem less intimidating than his towering 6’5. Eduardo watched, mystified at the magic trick.

“Do you want to come in and sit down? You might suffocate from the stench, but it’s warmer in there.”

“Thanks, I have a math lab in about five minutes,” Eduardo explained, shaking his head.

“You are going to have to run a five minute mile to make it,” the guy blinked, ignoring the way his overstuffed bag was sliding rapidly down his arm. “You interested in rowing crew?”

“Oh no,” Eduardo said, too quickly, then fumbled the apology too. “Not that I don’t like rowing - just uh, I’ve actually never seen anyone row. Or been rowing. Rowed.”

The big guy laughed, throwing his head back. He nearly lost the towel he had slung around his neck. 

“Maybe you should,” he said. “My name’s Cameron Winklevoss. Rower. Hoping to head to China next year.” He put his hand out.

“The Olympics? Neat.” Eduardo said, genuinely charmed. He let Cameron’s massive mitt envelop his bony fingers. “Eduardo Saverin. Investment Club is my claim to fame, I guess.”

“Eduardo,” Cameron repeated, saying it like he was checking he was getting it right. “Sounds familiar. Maybe we have a mutual acquaintance?”

“I don’t know,” Eduardo laughed. “It’s nice to meet you though.” 

“Absolutely,” Cameron said, shouldering a canvas rucksack. “I’ll see you round - take care of yourself.”

He jerked his chin in a friendly goodbye, and it reminded Eduardo of Mark, of all people. 

Cameron ventured out into the wind, leaving Eduardo to muster up the nerve to take on the last 500 yards of freezing tundra. It would be faster to just cross the street again and just put himself back to bed in either Eliot or Kirkland. But he’d already committed to the day, so he gritted his teeth and dashed out.

+++

The autumn winds only blew colder, whistling around the old brick buildings and battering the newer glass structures. Sometimes it became almost atmospheric to sit and listen to the weather testing the walls of the lecture hall or the Kirkland bricks.

The only thing missing was a crackling fire, which was something that had always delighted Eduardo about the Kirkland dorms. Mark and Chris’ rooms were parted by a literal 1930s era fireplace. It was long defunct now, but Dustin had his television slotted into the empty space. When it was muted and Eduardo was hunched over the breakfast table or curled in the corner of the sofa, eyes nearly closed, it was kind of like having a fire flickering away. 

It wasn’t warm, obviously, but Mark would often come out and drop a hoodie on top of him. Chris would send Dustin across the room to drape a blanket over him if he drifted off late in the afternoon.

Eventually it was just too cold to even pretend to study in the living room and he migrated, text books and all, to Mark’s bed. 

It wasn’t a terrible change, at least for Mark. He was very smug about being able to conveniently spin his chair around and grab at Eduardo’s ass during coding breaks. 

Eduardo perhaps wouldn’t rank the arrangement as a top ten study location, but Mark certainly did. This may have had a lot to do with Eduardo being more amenable to regular ad hoc blowjobs when he wasn’t struggling to keep his other extremities warm.

As always, comfort won out most afternoons, and Eduardo ended up spending approximately sixty percent of his sleeping hours sacked out in Mark’s room.

The only real loser was Billy, Mark’s actual roommate, who Eduardo could remember meeting maybe twice _ever_ , despite pretty much residing in the poor guy’s room. 

“Billy Olsen?” Chris said, when Eduardo asked after him on the way to Macro one morning. 

“Yeah, I feel like I owe him rent or something,” Eduardo said, taking off his gloves to warm his hands better around his coffee cup. “I’m always in his room with Mark. He probably thinks he’s been evicted without notice.” 

“You mean sexiled,” Chris said, knowingly, nose crinkling up when he laughed at Eduardo’s blush. 

Eduardo stomped ahead jokingly until his face cooled a little. “We’re not that bad,” he said, glancing sidelong at Chris in embarrassment. “Please tell me we didn’t drive him away.”

Chris shook his head, still laughing. “Billy still comes in when you’re asleep sometimes. He just picks up his stuff and goes. He has a girlfriend with an apartment off-campus.”

“Oh, good,” Eduardo said, relieved. 

“But, yeah, you two really are that bad,” Chris said gleefully, ducking ahead into their lecture hall so Eduardo can’t physically assault him without an audience of their peers. 

Eduardo scowled as they shuffled into their seats. 

Chris handed him a stack of dog-eared flyers to push down the row. “Huh, this is the Happy Hour deal Dustin was going on about,” he said, tucking a copy into his folder.

“Chris. Are we honestly that bad?” Eduardo asked, eyes on the professor’s dull green title slide. 

The lights dimmed as the professor rearranged his podium. Chris gave Eduardo a thoughtful look in the semi-dark, spinning his pen in his hand. “It’s fine,” he said, after a moment. “Mark talks a lot when he’s alone with you, huh?” 

Eduardo felt his face flush entirely red. “I guess,” he managed to answer, as casual as he could.

There was a hum of amusement in Chris’s voice, but his words were kind. “That’s good,” he said. “He really likes you, Eduardo. I’m glad he tells you.” 

He paused to think, then lifted his pen pointedly. “Uh, at least I assume that’s what he’s saying to you. I’m not listening at the keyhole or anything.”

Eduardo chewed his lip, staring down at his pre-printed slides. “Yeah,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to hold him to anything he says, though.” 

Chris looked at him funny. “It’s Mark. Whatever he said to you, he means it,” he said. “Just don’t bring it up with Dustin. He’s going through a really unattractive jealous stage.”

Eduardo half-smiled at that and the professor started talking before Chris could say anything more. Naturally, the slides are nowhere near comprehensive enough to do anything but scribble desperately for the full hour.

+++

“We’re going out tah-night, boys!” Dustin hollered, jogging in and out of his room to bother Chris and then doing a quick loop of Mark’s area before he slid out in his socks in a hurry to avoid a sharply flung sandal.

“We’re going out?” Eduardo said, swinging his legs over the edge of Mark’s bed. “I should change.”

“You don’t need to change,” Mark said, still staring at his screen. 

“But if we’re going out-” Eduardo pointed out, starting to shrug his jacket on.

“You don’t need to change, unless you want to, I guess,” Dustin said, poking his head back in the door. 

Eduardo sat there, half in and half out of his jacket, his energy already beginning to wane. It was hard to think sometimes, let alone keep up with Mark and Dustin’s mental gymnastics.

Chris came in next and fixed Mark with a look that penetrated his code-induced haze. Mark closed his laptop. 

“So we’re going out,” Mark said, resigned.

“We’re going out,” Chris agreed, then turned to Eduardo. “You wanna get changed? It’s icy out. We can walk you by Eliot on the way.”

Eduardo bit down on a sigh. “Thanks, that would be great.”

Dustin distributed beers while they waited on Chris to change and do his hair. Eduardo was impressed to see Mark put some real shoes on, his concession to the deep winter chill. 

They all trooped back to Eduardo’s single and made nuisances of themselves rummaging through his mini fridge as he slipped out into the communal bathroom to change. If it had just been Mark, it might have been alright to change in the room. But it wasn’t. 

“There is literally nothing in your fridge, Wardo,” Dustin complained when he returned. “What gives!”

Eduardo rolled his eyes. He had a row of extremely expensive protein fortified milks in his fridge, thanks, and possibly enough Yakult to cure every yeast infection in Eliot house. 

“Sorry to disappoint, Dustin,” he said instead and let them all out the door ahead of him. 

Mark lingered, walking down the stairs with him, close enough that the backs of their hands brushed warmly in the draughty lobby.

+++

“I can dance!” Eduardo objected, because it was true. “Better than any of you!”

Chris gave him an assessing look, tilting his head like he was asking whether Eduardo was sure about that statement. 

“About Caribbean night…” Dustin started, reluctantly, before Chris put his hand out to stop him from talking. 

“Let him believe a little longer,” Chris said, smiling, and Eduardo huffed, throwing his shoulders back at the unspoken insult.

“You can dance, Wardo,” Mark finished the dregs of his beer and banged the bottle down. “I’ll come with you.”

Eduardo blinked but stood up so Mark could clamber out of the booth as well. 

“I have to see this,” Chris said, standing. “Dustin, save our table.”

“Gladly,” Dustin muttered, commandeering Chris’s beer. “I’m very happily skipping this opportunity for nightmare fuel.”

Eduardo shrugged off his jacket and blazer, for once nearly warm enough to sweat in the crowded bar. 

“Come on, you silly noodle,” Chris said affectionately. “Better start dancing before you inevitably lose the capacity to walk.” 

“Chris,” Mark said, his voice sharp.

Chris flapped his hand at him, wrapping his arm around Eduardo’s shoulders easily. “He’s about half a glass away from falling down. Let him wear himself out.” 

“M’not,” Eduardo retorted, grabbing at Mark’s hoodie cuff. “I’m wide awake, _Chris_ ,” he said, as if knowing Chris’s name proved anything, but that hardly mattered when there was _music_. 

He dragged the three of them in a more-or-less linear beeline towards the scuffed concrete square designated as a makeshift dancefloor.

“I think I’m dancing more than you are,” Mark said flatly, mostly carrying Eduardo as he executed a pretty well timed grapevine step.

Chris laughed, dancing alongside them with the easy comfortable sway of someone just on the other side of tipsy.

They continued to perform an interesting approximation of dancing for a solid twenty minutes. Chris and Eduardo alternately cheered and booed the DJ’s selection. Mark stuck close, expression grim but he was quick to catch Eduardo when he pitched forward.

“You’re tired,” Mark finally shouted over Destiny’s Child. 

Chris looked a little disgruntled at being interrupted midsong but Eduardo was quietly relieved. There was no keeping up with Chris when it came to clubbing, and frankly, after two songs he had already felt his feet beginning to bruise and ache inside his dress shoes.

Mark beat a swift retreat through the crowd, easily clearing them a path with his no-nonsense gait and sharp elbows.

“Back so soon?” Dustin greeted them, lifting double-fisted beers. 

“Where did you get those?” Chris demands. 

“The waitress came back to flirt with me,” Dustin said, beaming. He sipped from each bottle in turn before losing custody of one to Chris.

“Should we wave her down again?” Chris said, looking at Mark. “I’m thirsty after our workout, and it’s Happy Hour all night.”

Eduardo laughed, still clambering into the booth as Mark waited impatiently behind him. 

“One more,” Mark said. 

Chris waved his hand towards the bar, and ordered three more beers from Dustin’s favourite blonde waitress.

“I’ve got them,” Mark said, digging his wallet out of his hoodie. 

“Nothing more for you, doll?” The waitress asked Eduardo directly, holding up her notebook in readiness. 

Eduardo blinked back to attention and smiled up at her. “Obrigado. No, thank you, miss.”

She smiled back, taking Mark’s cash without looking at him and headed off to grab their drinks.

“Are you serious, Wardo?” Dustin complained, as soon as the drinks were on the table and she was out of earshot. 

“Foul play,” Chris agreed, “you had an unfair advantage.”

“It’s automatic!” Eduardo defended himself. “It’s hard when I’m drunk - it just - it just happens.” 

“You could learn a second language too, Dustin.” Mark said mildly. 

Eduardo shot him a grateful look for the back up. 

“It’s not just the language,” Dustin sighed, slumping to the tabletop like a rag doll. “It’s the rest, the whole package. The face, the hair...don’t say _anything_ , Christopher. My masculinity is very fragile tonight.”

Chris snorted. “Just tonight?”

Dustin picked himself up from the tabletop and saluted Eduardo with his bottle. 

“I’m sorry?” Eduardo tried, trying not to drop face first into the table himself. 

“The perks of being a homme fatale,” Dustin waxed lyrical. “Ah, to be a tall, dark, handsome Brazilian in high school. You must have been beating them off with a stick.” 

“I’m not a homme - homme fatal,” Eduardo mumbled.

He definitely hadn’t hit an accent right there. Nor had he needed to hit anyone with any kind of weapon to keep them away when he was a young mathlete in Miami.

He told Dustin as much, knees knocking sharply against his as he leaned in to shout over the music.

Dustin listened politely, the corner of his mouth curling up in a way that reminded Eduardo of Mark more than anything. 

“I’m not sure about this,” Dustin pondered, tapping his beer bottle. “I’ve seen your yearbook pictures, Wardo. I’m not sure you’re presenting an accurate account.”

“What yearbook pictures?” Mark interrupted. 

Eduardo covered his face with a hand, nearly poking himself in the eye. Trust Dustin to bring this up now.

Dustin shifted in his seat, excitedly turning to speak to Mark. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Chris said, sliding back into the booth and distributing fresh beers to everyone but Eduardo.

As much as Eduardo appreciated Chris’s willingness to respect his calorie limit, he almost wished Chris had brought him another drink to get him through this conversation without the possibility of remembering it the next day.

“Oh my gosh, Chris doesn’t know either,” Dustin exclaimed, half to himself. 

“Don’t….” Eduardo groaned, to little effect.

Dustin leaned in conspiratorially. “Wardo has a dark history as…a supermodel,” he said, solemnly. 

“That’s just…not accurate,” Eduardo groaned, closing his eyes in horror.

Much to Eduardo’s horror, Chris gave him the requisite up and down look, mouth set consideringly over the opening of his drink. He took a sip and nodded. “Sure, I’ll buy it.”

“What. Pictures.” Mark repeated slowly.

“Think: bikini photoshoot,” Dustin told Mark, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“What are you even saying, Dustin,” Eduardo groaned, feeling Mark bristling in jealous outrage against his side. 

“It was a school thing,” Eduardo gave in, head dropping nearly to the table top. 

“A Miami thing?” Dustin laughed.

“We swam a lot,” Eduardo threw up his hands, “I used to swim for my high school, there’s nothing weird about that!” 

“Yeah, and you were _good_ ,” Dustin said, finally giving in. “Half your yearbook is just podium pictures - oh, you’ll love it, Mark - it’s pages and pages of Wardo in little swimming briefs.” 

Dustin fanned himself dreamily. 

Mark put his beer bottle to his lips and sipped methodically, as if Dustin no longer existed. 

Eduardo peeked through his fingers to check whether the horror had come to an end. 

“Do you still swim?” Chris asked politely, like a normal human being.

Eduardo shook his head. “Quit near the end of senior year. The coach benched me, actually.” 

He knew now the true danger of drinking - even as he told himself to shut his mouth, he somehow just kept talking, like his brain was diverting through some secondary channel for bad choices only. 

“Swim scouts aren’t impressed when you pass out mid-lap,” he laughed. “I wasn’t representing the school at their best anymore,” he recited, the words slipping easily off of his tongue thanks to ingrained memory.

King of the overshare indeed, he thought, resigned to telling the story in its shortest form. He could _feel_ Mark frowning beside him without even looking.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Chris said mildly.

“I’m sorry-” Dustin spluttered “- you fainted _underwater_?”

“Oh yeah. Several times,” Eduardo nodded easily. “It’s really not too bad when the water’s warm.”

“That’s...kinda messed up, Wardo,” Dustin said, staring. “Were they like, overworking you? Were you involved in a doping ring - isn’t that a thing in high schools now? Juicing?”

Eduardo shook his head, smiling faintly. “No, no. It was entirely my fault.” 

Chris elbowed Dustin sharply.

“That sucks,” Dustin said finally, and changed the topic hurriedly. “So, did you guys all want to go see Return of the King next Thursday?”

Eduardo shrugged politely and melted back into the booth cushions, tense shoulders dropping in increments. 

Mark nudged closer, his hand hovering over Eduardo’s thigh before decisively dropping to squeeze his leg. 

Eduardo sent him a small twisted smile. He was fine. He hadn’t even noticed his hackles going up - Mark’s discomfort had been more obvious than his own. 

Dustin had asked and he’d gotten a truthful answer. It didn’t hurt Eduardo to tell them anymore, which was a freedom in itself. People didn’t often like to hear Eduardo’s truths - usually they pretended not to hear them. 

Mark did though, just quietly. Sometimes Eduardo imagined he was cataloging them. Waiting for the full dataset, so he could extrapolate Eduardo; predict his future, map out his past, correct his missteps and realign them, subject and data-scientist.

Mark plucked at him, and it was all too easy to tuck himself back into the shoulder of Mark’s worn navy hoodie and rest his eyes for a few minutes, safe in their shelter of two.

Another two rounds had even sure-footed Chris stumbling on the way back from the bathroom. 

Mark had already called time at four beers.

Eduardo had been summarily banned after his exploits on the dancefloor and doubly so when Chris caught on to the fact that he was drowsing against Mark’s shoulder.

The waitress came around again and Dustin reflexively sat up straight. Her bun was coming undone and her apron was already untied. She was obviously ready to throw in the towel and head out.

“Last call,” she shouted over the earnest strains of Semisonic. She didn’t even bother to take out her notepad. “You guys better get moving if you’re looking to take someone home.”

“Um,” Dustin said dumbly, eyes shining, and Chris elbowed him again, hard, to ensure he ended his sentence there. 

“Thank you, we’re on the way out,” Chris said smoothly, and she gave them a dismissive wave goodbye and moved on to the next booth to repeat the bad news.

“Imagine taking someone home,” Dustin sighed, spinning his empty bottle by the neck on the table. Chris rolled his eyes at him.

“Mark can take me home,” Eduardo yawned, resting his chin on Mark’s shoulder. “I like him.”

Chris gave him a gentle look. “Oh, Wardo,” he said, and turned to fix Mark with an equally soft look.

“I think that’s us,” Mark said, finding his voice.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Dustin said, barely holding in his laughter.

He reeled it in and chivalrously offered each of them his arm in turn as they slid out of the confines of the booth, frowning more comically with each refusal. 

“Suit yourselves,” he said nobly, then proceeded to point and laugh as they tripped and stumbled down the booth steps onto level ground.

Chris aimed a punch at his shoulder, but settled for tweaking irritably at his shirt sleeve.


	3. Part One: Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kirkland Quartet stumble back from the bar and Eduardo gets lucky. Dustin steps even further out of his lane and it doesn’t go down well.

“Should I call us a taxi?” Chris yawned, looking askance at Mark as they bundled up in the shelter of the doorway.

The night air was bracing enough that even Mark immediately pulled his jacket on and zipped it up.

Eduardo had wound his arms around Mark’s neck ten minutes before and decided he didn’t want to let go, necessitating that Mark lock a firm arm around his waist to keep them both upright and heading in the right direction. 

Mark gave Eduardo an assessing grimace and then turned it on Chris. “He might puke in the cab. It’s what, fifteen minutes walk?” 

“Exercise is good for hangovers,” Dustin chirped, still somehow disgustingly functional after drinking them under the table.

“Bullshit,” Chris grumbled. He paused them at a bus stop to retie his shoes more tightly for the walk. 

They stumbled back, picking their way between the warm pools of streetlights and the colder glare of campus security lights.

They passed Dworkin, still lit up in the wee hours and Dustin sprinted up to the threshold to mime opening the door for Mark, “Your stop, sir?” 

“Idiot,” Mark grunted. “If you have that much energy, you can carry Wardo the rest of the way home.”

“Oh, your highest honour!,” Dustin said in mock awe. “Sir would allow me such a thing?” 

He scurried back down the ramp, bowing deeply. He tickled Eduardo’s side playfully, darting away to stay out of Mark’s immediate striking range.

“No, no,” Eduardo mumbled, tightening his grasp around Mark’s neck. 

“You heard the man,” Chris said, deadpan. “No means no.”

“This is _my_ parasite,” Mark confirmed, “get your own.”

Dustin lifted his hands in surrender, walking backwards until he nearly took a spill off the next curb.

“Are we going all the way to Eliot?” Dustin asked at the next crossing. “I dunno if he can manage getting to bed alone - no offence, Wardo.”

“None taken,” Eduardo mumbled into the sweaty skin of Mark’s neck.

Mark smelled like beer and sweat, and a little bit like Eduardo’s own cologne for some reason. 

Oh, he was wearing Eduardo’s North Face jacket. 

Mark, whilst mostly impervious to weather of all kinds, didn’t have any real protection from the cold in his wardrobe. Besides, it was too big for Eduardo now and he wore his thicker down stuffed jacket most days. 

“Just stay at ours,” Chris yawned. “No problem.”

Mark nodded, elbow tightening around Eduardo’s waist.

Eduardo objected purely out of politeness. “S’fine,” he told Mark’s neck, “I’ll back to Eliot. ‘don’t want to be a hassle.”

Mark snorted. “You haven’t been able to walk straight for two hours. You’re sleeping with me.” 

“Oh my,” Dustin said, covering his ears.

“A little less over-sharing, thanks!” Chris neatly skipped out of slapping range.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Mark grumbled. 

Eduardo laughed into his shoulder, warm and if anything, a little aroused. “They know s’not. But I do wanna sleep with you.”

Mark jerked a little, mid-stride, as he processed the innuendo. “Um,” he said, arm flexing around Eduardo’s waist again. “Maybe if you’ve sobered up. Don’t want you to throw up in the middle.”

Eduardo huffed unhappily and unwound himself from Mark. “M’fine now. It’s too cold to be drunk out here.”

“That’s why we’re walking,” Chris muttered, practically hopping with every step to try to generate some body heat. 

Dustin didn’t seem to have any trouble, looping them in incessant figure eights as he peered down the dark frosty alleys between the University buildings. 

“Everything looks so different at night,” Dustin exclaimed, darting around the back of a small green oasis of trees and park benches. “There’s a meditation square at the back of the language labs - did you have any idea? It’s all like - zen and shit.”

“It’s a little less zen at nine am when it’s crammed with about thirty chainsmoking arts students,” Chris said wearily. 

Eduardo detoured across the footpath to shoulder bump Chris. “At least you can always get a light,” he commiserated.

“True,” Chris agreed. “And there’s always the gymnasium roof.” 

Eduardo nodded reverently. “A blessing.”

“You smoke?” Dustin said, raising his eyebrows at Mark pointedly.

“You’ve seen me smoke,” Chris said. “You literally smoked half a pack of _my_ cigarettes out the back at the last AEPi mixer, Dustin.” 

“I strongly deny that accusation, Christopher,” Dustin said virtuously. “Especially if we are ever in front of my mother, and I’d strongly recommend you make the same denial if you want to escape her with your ears still attached.”

“Noted,” Chris said. “And now I want to smoke.”

“But _you_ ,” Dustin pointed, arm wavering slightly, at Eduardo, who had now linked arms with Chris in solidarity with his bad life choices.

“Wardo, smoking is so bad for you! Don’t smoke!”

Eduardo laughed. “It’s only menthols,” he said, virtuous.

Chris snorted at that, his free hand extricating a flattened pack from his back pocket. “Oh, thank goodness,” he said, opening it and finding his lighter tucked inside.

“Mark, you have to stop him,” Dustin wailed, hanging off of Mark’s shoulder until he was strategically railroaded off the curb. 

“Wardo is a grown up,” Mark said flatly. “He can have lung cancer if he wants it.”

Eduardo and Chris both laughed, voices echoing between the stone buildings.

“I promise you, I won’t die of lung cancer,” Eduardo said to Dustin with a smile, veering back across the pavement to slot against Mark’s warm side again. 

Mark gave him a funny look, eyes sharp. “No, I guess not.” 

“See, safe and sound,” Eduardo said to Dustin. “Now you can focus on harassing Chris.” 

He nodded over to where Chris had taken shelter on the stairs up to the Yard, carefully cupping the flame of his lighter to keep it out of the wind. 

“Hey!” Dustin shouted, sprinting away. “No smoking in the Yard.”

“Dustin, are you fucking kidding me - no, you can’t have one.” Chris objected, swatting him away. “Fuck off!”

Kirkland was dark and silent when they arrived, just the hallway lighting at the low default night level. It was more likely that everyone was elsewhere, rather than asleep. 

This was fortunate as Chris nearly fell down the stairs on the way up, clanging practically every bannister as he caught himself. 

Eduardo nearly pissed himself laughing as he offered him a hand up, and then they accidentally slammed the suite door shut as well.

“Seriously?” Mark asked them as they collapsed into the couch in a fit of giggles. 

“Poor Chris,” Eduardo managed to choke through his laughter. He picked up Chris’s gangly leg and patted his knee through the denim. 

Chris cackled, shooting a very unsubtle wink over the back of the couch at Mark. 

Eduardo didn’t have to turn to hear Mark sigh and open the mini fridge. “Water?”

“Please,” Dustin said, sliding over to take the first bottle. He cracked it open immediately and guzzled the contents, throat moving like a snake swallowing a big mouse. 

“Gross,” Eduardo said, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. 

Dustin wiped his mouth and crushed the bottle with one hand. “That’s just how real men hydrate, Saverin. Don’t be jealous.”

“Wardo, water,” Mark said, pushing Dustin out of the way.

“I’m fine,” Eduardo smiled over the back of the couch, just realising now that he’d been distracted enough to drop Chris’s leg into his lap.

“You need water, and so do I,” Chris countered, making grabby hands at Mark until he flipped another bottle over the cushions and into Chris’s lap. “Ow, that fucking hurt, Mark!”

Mark came around and sat between them pointedly, delicately removing Chris’s leg and crowding him over to the edge of the armrest.

“Mark,” Eduardo said happily, laying his head on Mark’s shoulder. There really was nothing better, at this stage of his buzz, than nestling against Mark. 

“He’s done,” Chris said, distantly. “Put a fork in him, already. Or something else.” 

Eduardo felt Mark shift slightly and Chris yelped, suddenly on the other side of the living room, nursing his upper thigh defensively.

“Hm?” Eduardo lifted his head curiously, but Mark was slipping his hands into his hair now and there was absolutely no room left for anything else in Eduardo’s brain but feeling blunt fingernails running carefully over his scalp.

“Drink this,” Mark said, some time later.

Eduardo sat up, licking his dry lips and noting that Chris and Dustin’s door was shut now and the water bottle Mark was pressing to his mouth was lukewarm.

“Did I fall asleep?” Eduardo asked, after practically inhaling the water. He blinked and checked his watch, perking up like a houseplant. 

“Again,” Mark reminded him. “That’s a real talent, sleeping at the club.”

Eduardo grinned ruefully. “Saved your wallet a few drinks though, didn’t it?”

“You’re a cheap drunk,” Mark agreed, passing him another water. 

He waited for Eduardo to sip the water, diligently watching him swallow. 

“Yes?” Eduardo said, pausing his sipping. He put the cap back on the bottle. “You have my attention?”

Mark blinked, looking away momentarily before meeting his eyes again, dead-on. “On the way back, you said you wanted to...sleep here.”

Eduardo snorted, still just tipsy enough to attempt to flirt. He slipped his hand into one of Mark’s stupid cargo pockets. His thigh was warm, even through the canvas.

“Pretty sure I said I wanted to sleep with you, and actually - you asked me to sleep with you first.” Eduardo poked Mark in the leg firmly, his hand still curled inside the pocket. 

Mark frowned, opened his mouth and then closed it again slowly. Eduardo enjoyed watching the cogs turn in his head. “And that’s still on the table?” Mark said after a moment, clearly concerned he might be about to blow a sure thing. 

Eduardo bit down on a fond smile, extricating his hand from Mark’s pocket and cupping Mark’s tightly set jaw instead. “Of course. I’m a cheap drunk, remember?”

Mark snorted at the repetition of the joke automatically before stopping short, “Wait, are you being sarcastic, and you’re actually mad or something-”

Eduardo shook his head and leaned in, using his hand to guide himself to Mark’s lips. His head was still spinning pleasantly, even more so when Mark pushed back, taking eager control with a push of his tongue.

“Bed?” Eduardo suggested, pulling away to catch his breath.

Mark nodded jerkily, immediately heaving himself up and heading to the bedroom.

Mark was pushing textbooks and laundry off his bed. He tossed an entire armload of networking cables onto Billy’s bed and pulled the blinds too. They’d definitely forgotten to do that a couple of times. 

“Where’s Billy?” Eduardo said, trailing Mark into the double room. He closed the door and stripped off his jacket, then his blazer and sweater too, laying them over the back of Mark’s desk chair.

Mark shrugged. “Out with some of the other Dworkin dwellers. He probably passed out in Eric’s suite hours ago.”

Eduardo nodded, dawdling as he pulled his socks off and slid out of his slacks shyly.

“Why do drunk people undress so slowly?” Mark complained. He reached out and pulled Eduardo over by the wrist to get a head start on unbuttoning his shirt.

“M’not slow,” Eduardo murmured, happy to let Mark strip him more efficiently. 

Mark finally got him down to his undershirt and briefs and paused to flex his fingers, grimacing at the shirt as he threw it towards the desk.

He was noticeably careful when he pulled at Eduardo’s undershirt, fingertips sliding slowly up his sides, mindful of scratching Eduardo’s skin as he pushed it up and over his head. 

Eduardo crossed his arms over his middle automatically once it was cast aside. He was probably bloated from drinking so much liquid tonight, but he tried not to think about it. 

Mark stood on his toes, reaching up to brush their lips together in a careful kiss. “Okay?” He said, holding his gaze for a second longer than he usually would. 

Eduardo nodded, ducking his head to reciprocate in a rush, unfolding his arms to cling to Mark’s tshirt. His North Face jacket and navy hoodie were already crumpled on the floor - Mark had probably tossed them through his door way as soon as they’d gotten back. 

Mark met his kiss eagerly, escalating immediately to pressing his tongue into Eduardo’s mouth. He retreated and lapped at the corner of Eduardo’s mouth, kittenlike. 

Eduardo nearly cried out at the intense tingle it sent through him. He squeaked instead and pulled away in shock, his reaction completely involuntary. 

Eduardo clapped a hand to his mouth, mortified. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

It had just been _so much_ , suddenly. Like he’d touched a raw nerve that tore a pure whiteout of pleasure through his body from lip to brain to belly. 

“Don’t. You can make sounds, Wardo.” Mark said, petting the bare skin where Eduardo’s underwear had slid down his hip; hands careful, eyes dark. “It’s hot.”

Eduardo felt himself blush. “Everyone’s here - they’ll hear.”

Mark shrugged, shedding his clothes easily and clambering onto his mess of blankets. “You think they don’t already know?”

Eduardo chewed the inside of his lip for a second, but he followed Mark into the sheets. “I know that, but it doesn’t mean they want to, you know...hear us.”

“Hear you,” Mark pointed out, though his voice wasn’t unkind. It pitched lower than usual, matching the darkness of his dilated eyes. “Again.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Eduardo complained, settling easily into his lap.

“You can’t help it. It’s fine, I like it. It’s kind of slutty,” Mark said. Blunt as always.

“Don’t be mean to me,” Eduardo sulked. 

He still let Mark arrange him fastidiously, pulling at Eduardo’s long legs to wrap around his hips and settling his arms loose around Mark’s neck. 

Eduardo gave Mark a squeeze in revenge, knees digging into his sides. Mark just huffed, amused. 

There was nothing between them but hot skin, offsetting the chill that pervaded the dorms. Eduardo could already feel the slick of sweat rising between the press of their thighs. He was still pleasantly dizzy, just barely floating on the tail end of his buzz. 

He nuzzled into the soft hair that curled behind Mark’s ear, retrieving one of his hands from where Mark had slung it over his shoulder. He stroked down Mark’s lightly rising chest and stomach, taking his wet cock delicately in hand.

Eduardo grasped at Mark’s length, slick coming easily and quickening his up and down movement. His own dick brushed and wept against the back of his wrist. He ignored it to focus on the way that Mark’s spine went stiff and he strained up into Eduardo’s touch.

Mark stayed silent and otherwise mostly still, but his tightening jaw belied the gentle setting of his hands on either side of Eduardo’s hips.

“Is this - is this okay?” Eduardo murmured, watching Mark as he in turn watched Eduardo’s long fingers slide over his dick from tip to root. Mark’s gaze flicked up to focus on him quicker than lightning. His blue eyes were a stormy grey in the light cast by the desk lamp.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, voice low. 

Eduardo felt himself flush, even though he was literally naked, “I could - I could-” he started, entirely ready to offer his mouth, but Mark interrupted.

“I want to make you come now,” Mark said decisively. 

Eduardo’s dick pulsed, bumping solidly against the back of his wrist again, wet and aching.

“O-okay. Please,” Eduardo said, helpless in the face of Mark’s resolve. Whatever Mark wanted was exactly what Eduardo’s dick wanted. 

Mark guided Eduardo’s hand precum slicked hand up and around his shoulder. 

He urged Eduardo closer, pressing their cocks flush and trapping them between Eduardo’s hips and Mark’s stomach. Eduardo clung to him, hissing as Mark’s hard cock prodded insistently against his stomach. 

“I’d like to fuck you like this, one day,” Mark said into his ear, and Eduardo was certain he had blacked out for a moment. 

Mark pushed his hips up again, simultaneously pulling at Eduardo’s ass. 

Eduardo let out a low shuddering breath and pressed his forehead into Mark’s shoulder. He let his hips open, shifting his entire weight forward, against Mark’s hips. His knees went under him in this position, providing balance, but Mark had him locked in his control.

“I want-,” Eduardo started, but found he didn’t have the words for what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted Mark to keep going.

“You want to come,” Mark answered for him, absolutely certain in that condescending way that could make Eduardo absolutely furious any other time of day. “You want me to make you come.”

Eduardo swallowed hard, digging his fingers into the sweltering flesh of Mark’s back. He nodded, eyes closed, not certain whether he could survive something as basic to a human as orgasming tonight.

“Wardo,” Mark whispered against his lips, hips lifting the both of them in a slick jostle of movement. 

“Wardo,” he repeated, expectant this time. 

“Yes?” Eduardo managed, clinging to his freckled shoulders. 

“You’re so good like this, Wardo.”

Eduardo blushed, somehow. 

Mark rocked them up again, pressing Eduardo’s desperately leaking dick against his stomach.

“Fuck,” Mark said, groaning, “you’re so tiny.” 

He released his grip on Eduardo’s ass, letting him sit back just enough that he could look down and see their cocks, straining and angry red between them. 

Mark locked an arm around Eduardo’s waist instead. Eduardo made a soft sound of surprise, but he let Mark shift them into alignment and rut against him at a different angle..

“You're perfect, Wardo,” Mark muttered. He splayed his broad hand over Eduardo’s hip, fingertips digging in between Eduardo’s ribs and his thumb nearly stretching past Eduardo’s bellybutton. 

Eduardo shivered to see it. Mark’s huge hand made his waist look breakable. 

“Like that I can just put you where I want you.” Mark bounced him carefully in his lap, both their cocks pressing firmly against Eduardo’s flat stomach. 

“Uh huh.” Eduardo breathed. 

“You like that.” Mark said, sure again, and he wasn’t asking. 

Mark was telling him. Telling him he knew, his voice 100% smug. 

Eduardo couldn’t even be irritated, because he was so humiliatingly turned on. Mark was correct. He really liked it.

“Uh huh,” Eduardo whispered again, head dropping so he could answer through the wreckage of his mussed hair. 

“Say it. Tell me,” Mark said, insistent.

Eduardo’s face burned. His cock jumped against Mark’s hot damp skin. “I like it, Mark. When you put me where you want me,” he said, in his smallest voice. 

“Fuck,” was all that Mark said in response, voice tight. 

He crushed Eduardo against him, plastering them together from forehead to thighs. 

Eduardo realised a beat later that his stomach and thighs were now a sticky mess of come. 

“Oh,” he said, soft, staring down at Mark’s mess coating the two of them. “Oh.” He hid his face against Mark’s collarbone, shaking as he came too, without any further touch.

“You’re amazing,” Mark muttered again, hand coming up to cradle Eduardo’s neck carefully as he rolled them over into the cool bed sheets.

+++

Eduardo slept later than usual – mostly because of Mark’s conspicuous lack of an alarm clock.

He was sticky and gummy eyed but not quite as filthy as he remembered ending up last night. This was no doubt thanks to some creative tshirt mop up work on Mark’s part.

There was a bottle of water on the window sill beside the bed - another ten points to Mark for surprisingly attentive hangover preparation. 

Another two bottles of water and a shower and Eduardo would be human enough to venture out into the world. 

He could hear the other guys walking around the suite. Doors slamming, bowls clattering, thuds as they dropped into the sofa. He could hear Dustin chatting at top speed, apparently unruffled by his overindulgence the night before. Chris was reluctantly responding, voice rough. 

Mark granted them grumbled greetings, then they dropped into the kind of silence that accompanies a mutual enjoyment of sugary cereal. 

Eduardo got up, half drawn into waking by the thought of breakfast, but more than that, intent on escaping to the bathroom before the thought of being press-ganged into breakfast nauseated him further.

He pulled on a pair of Mark’s boxers from the clean but unfolded pile of laundry he’d abandoned on his dresser. He shrugged into his button up from the night before, grimacing at the lingering tang of spilled drinks and stale cologne. 

Assessing himself to be decent enough for a man nursing a Saturday morning hangover, he rifled through his messenger bag for painkillers and antacid to preempt his stomach getting any funny ideas. 

The others were talking a little louder in the living room. A glance at Mark’s open laptop told him it was nearly nine - all of Kirkland would be up and about within the next hour in the pursuit of maximising their Saturdays.

Eduardo knew perfectly well that whilst listening through doors isn’t polite, it could certainly be helpful. 

They were talking again though, low, and Eduardo slid his pills back into his bag, and quietly shifted to the almost closed door. He pressed his ear to the hinge end.

Eduardo wouldn’t say he was paranoid. But they were talking about him.

“-Are you sure?”

It’s Dustin’s voice.

“Yes.” Mark said flatly.

There are more crunching sounds.

“I don’t want to curbstomp your love – believe me, if I could get me a sexy Brazilian lady Wardo of my own, I would be so there—”

There was the unmistakable shuffling sound of someone coming close to being violently shoved off of the sofa.

“Ow, okay, Mark. Mercy!” Dustin yelped. “But like, you know what I’m saying right?”

“Nope,” Mark said, flippant.

Dustin lowered his voice. “He’s not well. I swear he’s dropped like fifty pounds since we met him. And he was skinny then.”

Chris and Mark were conspicuously silent.

“I’m just worried,” Dustin said. “Like, should he be hooking up and stuff when he’s, you know...not all there?”

Dustin definitely ended up on the floor this time, bowl and spoon clattering loudly across the hardwood.

Eduardo jolted at the sudden crash, barely catching himself on the side of Mark’s desk.

“Shit.” Dustin said in the living room, sounding winded. “Sorry! I’m sorry, man.”

“That’s bullshit.” Mark said. He’s loud enough for Eduardo not to have to eavesdrop this time.

“You’re saying he’s crazy?” Mark said, voice absolutely cold with fury. “Is that what you’re trying to say? You think Wardo’s too crazy to know who he’s fucking?” 

“No. Mark, I’m sorry.” Eduardo barely heard Dustin answer.

Chris said nothing. Eduardo was endlessly grateful to him, the tactful anchor in this volatile group.

“You’re full of shit.” Mark said, definitely intending this be the final word on the conversation. 

The floorboards creaked. Eduardo panicked and slid back into bed, shedding his half buttoned shirt. He closed his eyes in a poor imitation of sleep, as if the whole of the third floor hadn’t heard the altercation through their cardboard thin walls.

Mark pushed the door open hard enough for it to smack against the wall, but he paused when he saw that Eduardo was under the covers and shut it more quietly.

He came over and got into the bed. He curled around Eduardo’s back, shower-damp hair brushing against Eduardo’s shoulder. The pilled cotton of his tee felt warm against his back. Eduardo couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh when Mark curled an arm over him, locking them together. 

Mark ran his fingers up and down Eduardo’s side, skittering over the ribs Eduardo had been so happy to see in the mirror months ago.

“You’re awake.” Mark said.

Eduardo nodded, arching back into the warmth.

“No classes today.” Mark said. “Saturday.”

He squeezed gently at Eduardo’s middle. “Stay. Wanna sleep all day?”

Eduardo couldn’t argue with that. Sleeping burned something like fifty calories an hour, and Mark’s bed was warmer than his single. 

He turned over under Mark’s arm and pressed his face against Mark’s neck, breathing in his warm scent. “If you want to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Part One

**Author's Note:**

> ever wanted to suffer and never stop suffering? you too can be alerted whenever I upload garbage! just go to my profile page and smash that subscribe button to receive horrible notifications straight to your inbox :D


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